Page 27 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“No,” Silas said firmly. “We can wait until midnight, before retreating to our own rooms.”
Amelia shifted impatiently. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep. “Afraid to share space with me, Finley?”
Silas looked away, eyes straying to the fireplace. His jaw shifted with what she took for irritation. “We’ve spent a lot of time together the past few days. I would have thought you’d be eager to put some distance between us.”
“Our predicament is going to make that difficult, unfortunate as it is.” Amelia held up her palm, the cut representing their bond thrust into his face.
Silas’ eyes moved to stare at it before looking past her hand and meeting her gaze, expression hard. He nudged her aside to walk past her. “Unfortunate yes, so let’s not spend any more time with each other than absolutely necessary.”
Amelia watched him order their rooms, before tossing some coins to the bench. His movements were jerky, clearly irritated. She felt a moment of regret for her scathing responses. She might have tried to blame fear or fatigue, but Amelia was no stranger to her fiery personality, and that Silas knew just how to stoke it to life.
She wandered back slowly, the innkeeper sliding one key over with a nod to Amelia. “For your room,” she said in her scratchy voice before sending a look to Silas. “Yours don’t lock.”
He shrugged casually before hauling his pack onto his shoulder and disappearing into the dark stairwell without a backwards glance. Guilt squeezed in her chest again. She reached for the key. “How do we order from the kitchen?”
The innkeeper, who had returned to tallying coin, sighed when she had to pause and look back up. “Through that door, speak to the cook.”
Amelia muttered her thanks before taking the stairs upwards to locate her room, pinching the rusty key between two fingers, and hoping she didn’t catch anything.
She washed and changed into fresh clothing, eager to be free of the dust-covered items that seemed to host the cloying smells of the Rift. Feeling fresher, she moved across the hall to knock on Silas’ door.
When the room beyond remained silent, Amelia frowned and knocked again.
Giving up when he didn’t answer, she walked back down the stairs. The entrance, previously quiet, now swarmed with travellers heading for dinner. She followed two large men into an adjacent room, pausing when she spotted the blonde head in the corner, tucking into a bowl of stew.
Amelia found her own, before weaving her way to the dark corner where Silas sat. He glanced up at her, expressionless.
“Can I join you?”
He set down his bread, brushing his fingers together. “And subject yourself to more of my company?”
Exhaling wearily, Amelia sat without invitation and stared moodily into her bowl. It smelled good, though her stomach had abruptly soured. After a beat where she debated internally how to broach an apology, Amelia finally looked up. He was watching her with a small smile, as though privy to her inner battle.
She ignored her rising ire at the smirk. “Look, I know I’m not easy to be around…”
He scoffed quietly.
When she glowered, he chuckled lightly and raised his hands. “Sorry. Carry on.”
She let out a slow breath. “I’ve been told it on many occasions, so it’s not news to me,” Amelia muttered bitterly, tearing at her bread just to stare down at it.
Silas was quiet, so she looked up, finding him serious once more as he watched her. Unable to interpret the look, she ploughed on. “We’ve never gotten along, and while you can be a frustrating asshole…sorry,” she added, realising an apology should abstain from insulting the recipient. Silas just chuckled. “…I know I’m also at fault, so if you could believe when I say I’lltry to be better so we can work together on this. I hope to avoid only speaking in arguments.”
He sat thoughtfully before responding. “Avoiding only arguments sounds doable. Probably not eradicate them, though.” Silas leaned forwards, edging closer to her. She raised a brow. “I do enjoy the occasional verbal sparring.”
Amelia tried to hide the smile, but her mouth betrayed her. He leaned back, looking satisfied as he returned to his meal. Lapsing into an easy silence that was abnormal between them, they ate their dinner and people watched. There was a strange crowd in the Rider’s Retreat, ranging from large, bulky men with guns at their hips, to slight, wiry bookish types, who read while they ate. Amelia pondered what they were here for. To explore the Rift? The Southern Monolith? She had a hankering to start conversations with each of them to satisfy her curiosity.
Though as her belly grew full, she warmed, eyes growing heavy. She leaned back and breathed out slowly. “I don’t know how I’ll stay awake until midnight,” she mused tiredly.
Silas’ blue eyes shifted from watching two men arm wrestle, to her face instead. “You should sleep,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll wake you before midnight.”
Confused, she straightened. “Really?”
Silas reached for her empty bowl and stood. “I’ll see you before midnight. Keep your door unlocked.”
He left her sitting alone, her eyes lingering on him while she wondered at the different sides to him. Amelia had only noticed the argumentative, insufferable know-it-all side of Silas. The past few days had exposed a depth she hadn’t expected. Silas had been at times kind, generous and…protective.
Amelia made her way back to her room, storing away her confusion for later perusal.
